Scandalous Box Set

by Layla Valentine

  I look over at Leon, silhouetted against the last red light from the sun streaming through his white curtains. He looks too good to be true. Like an actual dream, and I blink a few times to be sure I’m not hallucinating.

  “Are you okay?”

  I look up at him, and he is standing there, naked, squinting down at me. I open my eyes wide and then realize I’m staring right at his bulge, and I don’t mean the one in his nose, so I look down at the floor.

  “Fine. Yeah.”

  My mental spasm seems to have no negative effect on Leon because he walks confidently to the end of the bad, hooks his fingers under the waistband of my panties, and slides them down my legs in a single tug.

  I clench my knees together, nervous as he crawls over me, his lips pressed into a determined line. Leon’s knee settles between mine, teasing my legs apart until my thighs wrap around his hips, and we are ready to do this. It is happening.

  “I’m not usually this kind of woman,” I say, covering my eyes with my hands, a giddy kind of embarrassment I haven’t felt since my first kiss with Brian Fredrickson in seventh grade.

  “What kind of woman?” Leon asks, kissing a line across my collarbones and then down between my breasts. His stubble scrapes the sensitive skin there and goosebumps rise over my body. “Sexy?”

  “No—”

  “Adorable?” He circles his tongue across my breast and then blows on the skin.

  I hiss and arch into him. “No.”

  He pauses and then laughs, kissing his way back up to my neck. “You are many wonderful things, Grace, but when you are naked, all I can think about is how incredible you look underneath me.”

  My heart lodges in my throat. I’ve never really talked during sex before. Every other man I’ve been with has been a lights-off, straight to business kind of guy, but Leon seems to enjoy the slow build. And I certainly have no complaints. Hearing him talk about how I make him feel, about what my body is doing to and for him…is hot. And with every word, my embarrassment is fading.

  I scrape a finger down his jaw and across his neck. “I’m not usually the kind of woman who sleeps with a man on the first date.”

  “Oh,” he says forehead wrinkling. “Well, you still aren’t. I mean, this is more like our second date, don’t you think?”

  “You’re counting the wedding?” I ask.

  “You aren’t?” he shrugs. “I was more of your date than…”

  His voice trails off, and I know he’s hesitant to say Sebastian’s name. He doesn’t want to bring him into this space, and I don’t want him here, either. So, I stretch up and catch his mouth with mine. This could be our first date or our tenth date. The number doesn’t change the facts. I am going to have sex with Leon Knight.

  All of our talk has delayed things enough, and I know Leon feels the same way as he wraps one hand around the back of my neck, the other around one of my thighs. He hitches my leg up and over his shoulder, trailing his fingers down my skin and making me moan in his mouth, and then, he pushes into me.

  The first time having sex with a new guy is never perfect. It is a lot of jockeying for position and figuring out how your bodies best match up. But Leon and I don’t have that kind of awkwardness. Our bodies fit together perfectly, and from the very first moment we connect, it is heaven. Pure, hot, blinding-white heaven.

  I grab his shoulder, my fingernails digging into his skin as he circles his body into mine. Leon turns and gives attention to my leg draped over his shoulder, kissing my calf and my ankle to the timing of his thrusts.

  I try to look at him, to take in every second of what feels like an earth-shattering event, but I can’t. My eyes roll back and drift closed, and I let my head fall back into the softest pile of pillows. Leon grabs my other leg and hooks it over his shoulder, as well, and I bite my lip to keep from moaning.

  Leon’s thumb brushes across my mouth, and I open my eyes to see him looking down at me. He looks almost unrecognizable. The kind lines of his face are hardened, focused, and his blue eyes are mostly pupil now.

  “Don’t,” he says.

  I must look confused because he grips my chin and continues. “Don’t hold it in.”

  He increases his pace, and I’m grateful for his understanding because I can’t stay quiet. Animal sounds pour out of me, and I claw at Leon, desperate to hold onto him or anything to keep me rooted to the ground.

  Warmth is building in my body, lapping at my insides like I’m dried wood for kindling, and any second, I’ll alight. Then, the same thumb that moments before brushed against my lips, brushes against another sensitive part of me. My hips buck of their own volition, and I squirm as Leon’s pace becomes relentless and wonderful.

  Heat builds inside of me, a tight ball of fire making me clench and coil until, finally, mercifully, I snap.

  It feels like standing in front of a fan in the middle of a heat wave, like drinking a glass of ice water after days without water. Leon is quenching a desire in me I hadn’t realized was there, and I only realize as I’m coming down that I’m thanking him.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” The words are breathless and embarrassing, but sincere. “Thank you.”

  “My, you sure are polite,” he growls, nearing his own edge based on the pattern of his breathing.

  My arms and legs feel like limp noodles, but when Leon takes my legs from his shoulders, hooks his arm around my waist, and flips us both over, I position myself on top of him like it was a choreographed move.

  Once again, our bodies find an easy, natural rhythm, and we move together until another wave of pleasure washes over me and my arms collapse. I fall forward onto his chest, and Leon strokes my hair even as he is bucking and twitching into me, finding his own release.

  We curl into one another, kissing and stroking and talking until he is ready, and then we do it again. The sun sets, and the only light in the room is the yellow streetlights filtered through his curtains, giving us both an unearthly kind of glow. When I fall asleep, I’m exhausted and far beyond caring that I’m covered with nothing more than a sheet and Leon’s arm.

  Chapter 10

  Grace

  I wake up with the sun.

  Leon’s room has east- and west-facing windows, which I hadn’t noticed the night before. He’s still sleeping next to me, his breathing deep and even, and I gently slide out from under his arm and tiptoe, naked, through the still-dim room and into the en-suite bathroom.

  The floors are white tile, the countertops marble, and the shower is just a continuation of the floor with a drain in the middle and a large pane of glass acting as the divider. It looks like the bathroom you’d see in a spa brochure. There is even a white robe hanging from a hook behind the door, and when I smell it, I know immediately that it’s Leon’s. I make a mental note to tease him about having a robe.

  I rinse my mouth out with water, scrub the leftover makeup from my face, and run my fingers through my tangled hair. There are soft brown bruises across my neck and shoulders from Leon’s playful sucking, and I run my fingers over them, thinking it wouldn’t be so bad if one of them became permanent. Then, I would have a reminder that last night was real. It really happened.

  The thought of putting on my skirt and blouse from the day before repulses me, so despite my plan to tease Leon for it later, I grab the robe from the hook and slip it on, rolling the sleeves until I can see my hands.

  Leon is still asleep, sprawled across the bed like a starfish, so I sneak out and pull the bedroom door closed behind me. When I walk down a short hallway and take in the living room, my mouth falls open.

  The room is two-stories tall with brick walls, exposed pipes and steel beams in the ceiling, and a mezzanine level around three walls with bookshelves. A modern chandelier with glass orbs hangs over the main living space and is at least eight-feet wide. Had I really been too distracted to notice all of this the night before? I know he was carrying me inside, but I mean…his living room has a balcony.

  Large windows as
tall as me dot the far wall, and I realize Leon must live in a penthouse. He has an entire floor of the modest brick building with windows in every direction. The house is still dim, but the morning sun is leaving squares of golden light on the dark hardwood floors.

  The couch is a giant gray sectional with square arms and wooden legs. Very modern, very sleek, but also comfortable with bright green and yellow throw pillows. There is a metallic bar cart with a marble top behind the couch, stocked with ten liquor bottles of various colors and sizes, and a giant flat-screen television hanging on the brick wall, speakers mounted on either side. I can picture myself curling up in the corner of the sectional with a pillow and a blanket, watching a movie. My feet would be on Leon’s lap, a drink from the bar cart on the glass coffee table. The space is beautiful but warm. Like Leon.

  I smile just thinking about him. I’ve never been with someone who made me feel giddy like this. Who gave me butterflies and made me do stupid, reckless things.

  But then, is this stupid? Was last night a mistake? I’d avoided thinking about it during because, honestly, I couldn’t think about anything except Leon and what he was doing to me. But now, the morning after, when I would normally start to feel the beginnings of regret, I just feel happy. Blindly, blissfully happy. Being in Leon’s house, in his space, feels normal. I feel more comfortable in his penthouse after one night than I have in Sebastian’s after one month.

  It isn’t entirely fair to compare the two since there has never been and will never be a romantic connection between Sebastian and me, but the question is: am I willing to be uncomfortable for two years or more of my life when the opportunity for real love and passion is waiting for me in the world? Maybe with Leon, maybe with someone else, I’m not sure. Is $500,000 worth putting my life on pause and having less than I deserve? Because I do deserve this—love, romance, happiness. I deserve to be with someone who appreciates me and wants to take care of me, and now that I’ve had even the smallest taste of that with Leon, I’m not sure I can go back.

  I wander into the kitchen—a white room with dark wood cabinets and white marble countertops—and focus in on the fancy coffee machine on the counter. It’s all intimidating metal and unexplained levers, and looks exactly like the ones they use in actual coffee shops.

  I rifle through the nearby cabinets until I find a bag of coffee, but when I open it, I realize they are whole beans. I have to grind them myself. In my head, I had an image of me making coffee and breakfast in the kitchen when Leon woke up, looking effortlessly calm and confident as I hand him a steaming mug. In reality, I’m stomping my foot and cursing at the coffee grinder when I hear his laugh behind me.

  “Try plugging it in.”

  I look over my shoulder and see him in boxers and nothing else, looking perfectly tousled, his eyes still sleepy. I look away before I hurl myself at him and make us both late for work.

  “I don’t even see a plug.”

  He walks up behind me, heat radiating off of him, and reaches around me to grab something at the back of the machine. Then, he pulls it out.

  “The cord retracts.”

  I click my tongue. “Fancy people and their fancy machines.”

  Leon plugs it into the wall and then shoos me away, grinding the beans, leveling the grounds inside of a metal cup, and then locking it into the bigger machine and flipping a switch. The whole process takes him less than a minute, and then he leans back against the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest, and looks at me with the deadliest pair of bedroom eyes.

  “How did you sleep?”

  Not near as well as I woke up, I want to say, blushing at the memory of his arm draped across my body.

  “Like a baby. You?”

  “Considerably better than usual,” he says, a dark eyebrow flicking up. Then, he twists around—the muscles of his midsection pulling taut and being more toned than any muscles have a right to be—and checks the clock above the stove.

  “I better get in the shower if I want to make it to work.”

  “It’s not even six yet.”

  “I usually show up at seven.”

  “In the morning?” I ask, not bothering to hide my distaste. “Why? Aren’t you the boss?”

  He laughs. “Yes, which means everyone has a thousand questions for me at all times. The only way I can get any quiet time is when I show up early.”

  I think about Sebastian, closing his door and unplugging his phone for two hours every afternoon, leaving me to field his phone calls and take messages. It’s my least favorite part of every workday.

  “Don’t you have an assistant?” I ask. “You could just close your office door and leave them to deal with everything for a while.”

  “First, I don’t have my own office,” he says, as if this is standard practice for CEOs. “I share a large communal space with a few of the other executives. Second, Andre has enough work to deal with without taking on my load in the afternoon.”

  I try to imagine Sebastian sharing an office, but the idea is so far outside the realm of possibility as to be laughable.

  “Apparently, I should be your assistant.”

  Leon smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You shouldn’t be anyone’s assistant.”

  Before I can confess to Leon what I’ve been thinking about all morning—that I might not be Sebastian’s assistant for much longer—he grabs the fresh cup of coffee out from under the spout and hands it to me, quickly sliding a fresh cup underneath and going through the whole process again.

  I don’t normally like black coffee. I only drink it when I am desperate for caffeine in any form. But this might be the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had. I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until Leon laughs.

  “Good. I would offer you breakfast, as well, but like I said last night, I don’t cook much. My pantry is pretty bare.”

  “What do you normally eat for breakfast?” I ask, sipping on my coffee, not really minding that it is burning the tip of my tongue.

  “I don’t.”

  “Don’t have a usual breakfast?”

  Breakfast is the one meal of the day where I’m content to eat the same thing every morning. Scrambled egg whites, one link of chicken sausage, and sliced strawberries. It’s a trustworthy combination with plenty of protein to keep me full until lunch.

  “Don’t have breakfast,” he says. “At all.”

  I don’t realize my mouth is hanging open until Leon reaches out and gently lifts my jaw back into place. “How? Why?”

  He grabs his full cup of coffee and takes a sip. “Coffee’s good enough for me.”

  “No. No, no, no.” I shake my head, bottom lip tucked in. “You have to eat breakfast. If you don’t eat breakfast, then your body thinks you’re starving and slows down your metabolism.”

  He smiles and gestures down to his gloriously flat stomach. “My metabolism is fine.”

  Okay, fair point. Also, mee-ow.

  I rally. “Breakfast is delicious. The best meal of the day.”

  “I eat breakfast foods for dinner at least once a week.”

  I sigh. “Well, that’s something. All hope is not yet lost for you.”

  He sets his mug down and moves forward until our bodies are flush. One brush of his hips against mine, and I’m ready to let my robe drop to the floor and climb him like a tree.

  He lowers his head, blue eyes narrowed and sultry.

  “You think I can be redeemed?”

  With the thoughts running through my head, I don’t think either of us can be redeemed. I will be forever lost to this lusty, crazed state. I don’t see a way out.

  “Perhaps. But not this morning.”

  With superhuman strength and resolve, I push him away, grab my coffee mug, and walk out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom. I hear Leon padding along behind me.

  “Like you said, I’m the CEO. I can show up a little late if I need to.”

  “Ahh,” I say, wagging a finger in the air over my shoulder. “But I am not, so I can
not. Sebastian will expect his secretary to be there and waiting for him by eight at the latest.”

  I quickly run through my options. Myla’s apartment isn’t far, so I could hop on the train, shower and change at her place since she has fresh clothes I could borrow, and then get to work. Or, I could shower here and wear the same thing I wore the day before. Sebastian barely looked at me all of yesterday, so he wouldn’t notice, but others in the office might. I have spare makeup and a travel toothbrush in my laptop bag that I use to freshen up after lunch, so getting ready at Leon’s place seems like the best option, aside from the very real danger of Leon joining me in the shower and ruining my effort at timeliness.

  “I thought you said you were his assistant,” Leon says, voice soft and unreadable. “You said there was a difference.”

  “I am,” I say flippantly. “Everyone else calls me his secretary, so I guess I just slipped up.”

  “But you want to be more than that, right?”

  I turn around and see Leon leaning against the doorway, eyes trained on a spot on the floor. The easy smile from the kitchen is gone, replaced by an emotion I don’t quite understand.

  “Of course. Being his assistant is just temporary,” I say.

  I could tell him that I’m thinking about ending my deal with Sebastian. And that when I do, Sebastian will probably fire me, but something about the look on his face gives me pause.

  “But it’s still good experience for now,” I go on. “I create most of the agendas for meetings and do a lot of bookkeeping. I even have a few people under me.”

  “So, you like being his assistant now?” Leon’s brow is furrowed, and he’s biting the inside of his cheek, his mouth twisted to the side.

  “You say it like I’m spending my days unclogging his toilet. It’s a job in the industry, and I’m going to work hard until another opportunity presents itself.”